


happier

by stagemanager



Category: Transformers (Bay Movies), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Character Study, Child Soldiers, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 15:26:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17327561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stagemanager/pseuds/stagemanager
Summary: Opposites are very different, except when they’re not.This is the story of how a little yellow robot learned that lesson.





	1. them

From a human standpoint, the little yellow robot was somewhere between eight and eighteen years old.

While this may seem like a rather large range—some humans can be very particular about their ages, you know—to a robot, this ten year range was as specific as it was going to get. Robots do not age in the same way humans do, what with their potential lifespans being as long as they are. So somewhere between eight and eighteen was going to be the best description for the little yellow robot.

In some ways, the earliest years of the little yellow robot were very much like that of a human child: learning to walk, talk, read, and the like. The little yellow robot was a curious, inquisitive thing, and he was constantly asking questions and getting into things despite any attempts to stop him. If you imagined a mischievous child opening up cabinets and getting into jars of peanut butter, you would not be wrong in this case. However, if you were to examine them from a more holistic point of view, the formative years of the little yellow robot were very much _NOT_  like those of a human.

( _There was one robot that always made him feel happy. He was kind and gentle and smart and brave. Always there. The little yellow robot liked him the best._ )

A little boy might have a name like “Sam” or “Daniel”, something sweet and nice that his parents might have debated over for months. The little yellow robot was called “B-127” because that was his creation number. While little Sammy might have been constantly fawned over by his mother and father, B-127 quickly learned that sometimes people don’t come back after they leave. And while Sam might have known how to walk, talk, and read, B-127 also knew how hide from an attacker and what jets sounded like when they sliced through the air.

When the little yellow robot saw someone die for the first time ( _a cold dark void where bright blue once glowed, metal blacked and crumpled into an unrecognizable shape_ ) he knew what the words fear and death meant. He was somewhere between eight and eighteen, and though he didn’t know a lot about the world—or what it meant to live in a world not ravaged by war—he knew that it was better to die fighting than not. Between the lies about his age and the dire need for recruits, he was immediately accepted. He was compact and sneaky and curious, and so they fitted him with weapons and made him a scout.

Each day, he killed and spied and stabbed and listened. It was time for him to learn again, this time how to dissect an image or sound until he knew every single detail about it. What indicated a threat and what didn’t. How to pick out and exploit a weak point in a wall or opponent. His growing reputation as the most daring and successful scout eventually granted him a place at the top with the leader of the entire resistance.

War was brutal. He had learned that quickly at a delicate, young age. And so the little yellow robot made it his mission to brighten the dark, somber atmosphere whenever he could. Those small moments where someone would smile or laugh or even yell at him for being insufferable he considered to be his greatest accomplishments. And though it sometimes meant taking on missions that he didn’t want and pretending to be okay when he really wasn’t, he didn’t mind. For his dysfunctional, crazy team, he didn’t mind at all.

The little yellow robot was somewhere between eight and eighteen, and he was old enough to deal with his own problems.

* * *

Then one day the capital fell and he found himself in a pod hurling away from his home towards an unknown planet in the vast darkness of space.

It was an order—a new, incredibly _important_ mission—but somehow he couldn’t help but feel like he had failed somehow.

When the bright blue planet came into view, the little yellow robot pushed his feelings back down and slid his mask into place.

* * *

Everything went wrong when he had landed on Earth.

Immediately, the native life begin attacking and chasing him. An appropriate response, he supposes, given his size ( _they’re so tiny!_ ) and method of transportation. Though their weapons are much weaker, the little yellow robot elects not to fight back. With his kind intending to take refuge on this planet, presenting himself as a peaceful emissary supersedes the desire to retaliate. Instead, he chooses the nonviolent approach, utilizing words instead of guns.

For a brief moment, his words seem to work, the natives pausing and lowering their weapons.

A flicker of hope—fragile, so very _fragile_ —ignites.

And then suddenly the sound of jet wings slices through the air, and the world erupts into fire and smoke.

* * *

It is only when the dust settles, his enemy scattered in unrecognizable pieces among the charred debris, that the pain finally begins to register. And suddenly, the little yellow robot feels as though he has lived an eternity, joints aching and severed wires sparking. Warnings flash in front of him, memories glitching as they unsuccessfully try to repair themselves.

The last thing that he remembers before being dragged into the darkness is how very, very _alone_ he felt. Because while he may have been a fighter and scout, he was also a little yellow robot somewhere between eight and eighteen years old who had no one to help him.


	2. her

Bumblebee thought Charlie was amazing.

Charlie was so smart. She knew all sorts of cool things, like how to fix things and how to hide from bad guys. She even gave him a name, and Bumblebee thought that was really nice because he doesn’t remember some things.

He doesn’t remember a lot of things, actually.

Anyways, Charlie was cool and Bumblebee was glad he met her. He thought she was scary at first but now he thinks he was just being silly for hiding from her.

Sometimes he does silly things like that. Like get scared of things for no reason. He was really scared of Charlie when they first met because he thought she was going to hurt him. Something inside told him to get away— _run, HIDE_ —but he doesn’t know why.

He wishes that he could remember things. But maybe it’s better that he doesn’t. The only thing he has from before Charlie is a feeling of pain and loneliness, and Bumblebee doesn’t want to go back there.

Being with Charlie is fun, and whatever happened before was not.

* * *

He doesn’t tell Charlie about what remembers after he sees the red and blue robot ( _kind and gentle and painfully familiar_ ). Even after she gives him the radio and he can talk again, he doesn’t want to talk about it.

He doesn’t know the answers to her questions.

So Bumblebee focuses on having fun with Charlie and Memo. Their smiles and laughter make him happy, and so he does his best to make these moments last. And though it means ignoring his broken memory and the strange _sadness-regret-shame_  inside of him, he doesn’t mind.

It’s easy not to mind when you have no memories.

* * *

But the past has a funny way of catching up to you.

* * *

Even at the young age of however old he was, Bumblebee’s life was already marked with numerous failures.

A lot of things went wrong that day. It was his fault that Charlie’s house was a mess. It was his fault that her parents were mad. And it was his fault that Charlie and Memo were in trouble and the fleet was coming _here_.

When the sight of Charlie injured on the ground fills his vision, the humans restraining him responsible, his guilt ignites into a scarlet rage.

Battle mask lowered, B-127 unsheathes his blade and methodically severs the ropes. Task completed, he activates his cannon and fires at the hostiles, destroying their vehicles and throwing the organics to the ground. Enemies dazed, he primes his weapon for another round, _targets now tagged for elimination—_

* * *

Her name is Charlie, and she is eighteen years old. She is a kind and nice human who gave him his voice back and whose smiles are worth everything.

He remembers his orders now: keep planet Earth safe, _no matter the cost_. And so he follows the two to the radio tower, not intending in the slightest to fail his mission. Carefully, he hides Charlie within a metal box, hopefully far enough from the tower and potential battlefield. She is such a tiny thing—fragile, so very _fragile_. Even though he is still injured from his near-death experience and his newly-restored memories are throwing him off-balance, he walks up to the tower ready for battle.

If Charlie was eighteen, Bumblebee figured that he had to be younger than her. Because when things went wrong, she was the one who tried to protect him. Now, it was his turn to return the favor.

When the decision came to choose between himself and her, he didn’t hesitate at all.

Both of his missions would be completed if he fired at the wall and taken them both out.

So he did it.


	3. me

The little yellow robot was somewhere between the ages of eight and eighteen, and while this range was rather wide, it was the best way to describe his life experiences up to that point.

In many ways, the little yellow robot was an adult. He had seen cities fall, witnessed first-hand the atrocities of war, and knew exactly what it was like to end a life. But in just as many ways, the little yellow robot was also a child. He was a curious, inquisitive thing who got into things and places he wasn’t supposed to. He loved listening to music, pulling pranks, and watching movies.  

The little yellow robot was somewhere between eight and eighteen, and while he was indeed a little yellow robot, his experiences had shaped him into something so much more than that. His story contained many characters: a lost child, a determined survivor, a daring scout, an effective killer, and a fearless friend. He was a weary soldier named B-127 who had seen the worst parts of people, and a little boy with no name who had seen the best in them. The little yellow robot was all of these things and yet none of them at all. And for the first time in his life, he was okay with that. Because if a tiny, fragile human could see all these parts of him—the broken and scary and messy and lost—and still decide to dive in after him, he could too.

Bumblebee was young, caught somewhere between the ages of eight and eighteen, and though he hadn’t lived that long, he decided that the best thing for him to be was himself. Because whenever you cross a bridge, you should never forget what was on the other side.

 


End file.
